by Matthew Ross
‘I was sorry to hear about Tommy,’ he said. ‘Such a shame, he was a good lad. And a very good worker, he did this place for me, did you know?’ I replied that I did. ‘And so very clean – you could always rely on him to clean up.’
Behind us, Brazil and Dunlop were fetching in the supplies and making a noisy job of it in the process. To be heard over the clinking of glass and rattling of crates, Hamlet leaned in towards me.
‘What he did, and indeed what you do, Marky Mark, is very skilled. I can always find opportunities for people with skills, people like Tommy and like you, even like your numbskull of a brother.’
I said nothing.
‘Ah, still a sore point I see.’
I said nothing.
Hamlet readjusted his posture, slightly more upright, more formal.
‘Take these two dickheads,’ he said gesturing towards Brazil and Dunlop. ‘Thick as pigshit the pair of them. Both bloody useless. I can replace them in a second, I’ve got them queueing up round the block to work for me.’
He was right about that, there’s a strange glamour attached to him, you think if you’re in his shadow some of his notoriety will rub off on you like stardust. I did, at least I used to once upon a time.
‘But the likes of you and Tommy and… others, let’s say – you’re special, you’re valuable to people like me because you understand how things are, how the world turns.’
His attempts at flattery made me uncomfortable, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He continued talking: ‘I hear Senia is investigating Tommy’s…’ He tailed off on the last word, either not wanting to say murder or not wanting to be seen to know too much.
I didn’t respond, assuming he’d already had a full account from his inside man, quite literally the Police Informer.
‘What do you think of acting Detective Chief Inspector Senia then?’ he asked. ‘You know his pedigree?’
I shook my head. Hamlet continued: ‘Our Mr Senia is something of a rising star, the man of the future no less. You know old Ted Gaffney? No, I don’t suppose you do. Well, Ted heads up the Medway Serious Crimes Squad here, but last month the poor old git had a heart attack. Shame, only fifty-six. Anyway, they needed an interim head. Young Mr Senia’s been the golden boy of the Met, so he’s come down here to the ’burbs on secondment and if all goes well for him, he could be staying, as I’ve heard Ted’s trying to pension out early on medical grounds. So, what do you reckon of Senia?’
‘He doesn’t look Italian.’
Hamlet looked confused at my observation. I didn’t elaborate. He leaned in close to me.
‘Now, this is important, think carefully,’ his voice had taken a serious tone, but his forehead looked unconcerned. ‘Has Senia mentioned me?’
‘You? Why would he mention you? What, regarding Tommy’s...’ I too tailed off on the final word.
‘Yes. Has he? I am relying on you Marky Mark to keep my name out of this. I repeat, I do not want my name coming up regarding anything to do with this.’
‘But why would it? I don’t understand.’
‘Oh, come off it, you two were as close as stink on shit, don’t pretend you weren’t. Just keep me out of it, okay?’
I mumbled my agreement, but didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. What had Tommy got himself involved in? I looked around to make sure the dumb muscles were far enough away – I didn’t want to be overheard. They looked busy, I felt it safe enough to talk freely.
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘I really need your help, please.’ He didn’t say anything, just a quizzical look. I continued, ‘I’ve been let down and need to borrow some money, quickly.’
He asked how much, and I gave him the full story about Chapman running away and hiding, and about Blunt getting impatient.
‘You know your problem? You’re stuck between a Cock and a Hard Case!’
I knew it wasn’t the first time he’d used that joke, yet he clearly still found it very funny judging by the time it took him to calm down.
‘Look, we’re friends, and because of that, and because you’ve agreed to keep my name away from Senia – haven’t you?’ Again I muttered my agreement, only this time with a bit more vigour. ‘I’m prepared to do you a big, big favour.’
I waited, wondering what I was letting myself in for.
‘I can lend you the money at mates’ rates, you pay me back plus fifteen percent or I can buy the debt off you wholesale for eighty-five percent. Up to you.’
So, there were my choices. Either way it’d cost me any residual hope of ever breaking even, but at least the only one left short would be me. I could live with that. The Devil had tabled his deals, now all that was left was bending over to take the least painful one. If I went for the first option, I was just another mug punter, and mates’ rates or not, the interest would go on and on and the repaying would never stop. If I went for the second, I get the cash, Chapman becomes the mug punter, and it becomes Hamlet’s job to recover it from him. He’d probably unleash the goons to find Chapman and get what he owed, probably hurt him. But it was Chapman’s fault, he started the whole chain of events, I held him one hundred percent responsible for Tommy.
‘The debt’s all yours, thanks,’ I said.
‘You’ll get the money by Friday, someone’ll call you when it’s ready, okay?’ Hamlet phrased it as a question but I took it as the instruction it was. I confirmed Friday would be fine and that I appreciated what he was doing for me – you deal with the Devil, but you still need to bow and scrape.
‘Now, whilst you’re here, there’s some jobs for you, go and see Sally in the back office.’ He paused, then, ‘It’s good to see you again Mark, really good, we should hang out again soon.’
And with that I knew I had been dismissed.
7
Sally looked up at me over the top of her thin monitor, the light of the display reflecting off her fashionable black-framed glasses. She leaned back in her seat, removed her glasses, and broke into a smile.
‘Well, well, well. Marky Mark, the prodigal returns,’ she said. ‘I was told you were popping in, but I didn’t believe it.’
She rose from her seat and hugged me, which I found both surprising and comforting at the same time. She was a good kid – that’s all she was, only in her early twenties and already the most sensible member of my family, so composed and self-possessed. I certainly never had that kind of confidence at her age, not that I’m suggesting any family resemblance between us, in fact I’m not even sure if I can say we were family. Sally’s my uncle’s wife’s niece: what does that makes us, second cousins, anything, nothing? I only even knew of any link a few years ago when my uncle introduced us. Funny isn’t it? It’s a small town but you could walk past someone in the street and not even realise you’re related. But like I say, she’s a good kid, making her way on her own, dealing with gurning idiots like Brazil and Dunlop all day and Hamlet, a smiling damned villain, by night.
I’d grown to hate the way he treated women. Maybe its territorial, my club, my property, maybe it’s a throwback to all the ecstasy he’d gorged on over the years, maybe he was just an arsehole. Whatever the reason, if the Prince behaved like that, then his court would follow, giving socially inept boneheads like Brazil and Dunlop entitlement to paw women and treat them like livestock. It sickened me and was one of the reasons, not the main one I admit, but nonetheless a reason, I had wanted to get some distance from this whole thing.
I never said anything to her, but for a while I felt compelled to keep a watchful eye over Sally, making sure she was alright and being treated respectfully, even though I’m sure Sally could more than take care of herself. But in any event, she was protected, Hamlet made sure of that. The reasons why were on her desk. Several photos in varied frames were assembled around the stem of her computer screen, pictures of Sally and a little girl, her daughter Sophia. Hamlet’s granddaughter. Possibly.
Sally, as efficient as always, had produced a short list of repairs she wanted done.
As we walked around the club, she pointed out each item, and we caught up in the gaps in between talking about family, and I nodded along politely as she spoke of people I didn’t know and would never meet but I was somehow linked to. She seemed happy when I told her I’d get the materials on order and come back in a few days, but she persuaded me to stay on to look at a blown security lamp over the external entrance stairs. I couldn’t think of any justifiable reason to turn her down, and told her so. We both smiled. Breaking the mood of the moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Without hesitating, I killed the call, and it chimed a notification at me a minute later. Apologising to Sally I listened to the voicemail message, Senia again. I put the phone away and said, ‘Okay, let’s have a look at this lamp.’
It only took twenty minutes or so to change the lamp over. As I was packing away my ladder, Sally emerged with two mugs, handing one to me, and gestured towards the low boundary wall as somewhere to sit. Following her lead, I sat and thanked her for the coffee. The warm bright Spring day was all around us and the low sun felt welcome on my face.
‘I was ever so sad to hear about Tommy,’ she said. ‘He was such a lovely guy.’ I muttered my agreement.
‘He’d been down here quite a bit recently, I think he’d been doing stuff for Ian, working in his properties.’ Perhaps she picked up on my lack of understanding as she explained, ‘He was dealing with him direct, anything to do with the club or the pubs come through me, so I assumed it was to do with his other properties. Who did it, Mark? Do you know?’
I shook my head and told her no matter which way I looked at it, I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him; he was the best. I didn’t mention my guilt and my shame that it might have been because of me, unable to pay the debts I’d stacked up on the promise of a fat bastard travel agent in absentia.
And then she asked me, the first person to do so, how I felt, how I was coping, how I was bearing up. Sometimes all you want is someone to listen, isn’t it? You don’t want opinions, or solutions, you just want someone who can hear you. I was so grateful to her for understanding this.
She didn’t speak, she sat and she listened, knowing that was the correct way to deal with me, that’s how we do things round here. Every now and then just lift the lid, let out some of the steam, and then straight away seal it up again as though nothing had happened.
A shrill comedy wolf whistle broke the sombre mood. Blushing, Sally reached into her pocket and pulled out a smartphone, ‘Oops, text message.’ She became coy as she read it.
‘Go on then,’ I gently teased her, ‘who’s that? Got much going on?’
Sally contemplated her answer looking upwards. She unrolled her hunched shoulders and arched towards the clear blue sky above us, she gnawed her lip and nodded with faint embarrassment. The sunlight reflected a warm glow off her coffee-coloured complexion. This was someone happy, someone with good news, exactly what I needed.
‘Come on, share.’
‘Things are good. I’ve met someone. Sophia’s met him, she likes him, always a good sign, and she adores his little boy. He’s the same age, says she wants him to be her brother. So, yeah, things are good.’
I congratulated her, and encouraged her to continue.
‘We want to move in together, like a ready-made family. Problems with his ex though, bit of a nightmare. We want to get away, start somewhere new. Plus, there’s all this here, I could do with getting away from here. Don’t tell Himself downstairs though, I don’t want him to know yet.’
I promised to be the soul of discretion and wished her success whilst she fumbled about with her smartphone. On her cue, I grinned a cheesy smile to the small lens in the sparkly red cover. She giggled as I heard the shutter sound-effect.
‘New toy. Got it at the weekend, took them ages to transfer everything across to it from the old phone but it was worth it because it’s brilliant, only thing is I have to keep charging it, the battery doesn’t seem to last anywhere nearly as long as my old Samsung.’
She looked at me as though expecting me to have the answer to her battery woes, I just shrugged my shoulders and drank my coffee.
‘There you are, don’t you look pretty?’
Some sort of photo app had turned my face into a fluffy white kitten. I smiled, but she found it hysterical and began to sing ‘Pussy cat, pussy cat I love you, yes I do...’
‘Small things...’ I muttered in mock indignation, ‘How’s Sophia? Still gorgeous?’
Sally swiped her finger across the screen then tilted it towards me to show me a charming little girl with the same coffee complexion as her mother and tight black curls dropping in ringlets across her beaming face. ‘A proper little mini-me, isn’t she?’
Her next swipe brought up an image of Sophia dressed as a Disney princess and a little boy of similar age dressed as a superhero flapping his cape behind him, ‘That’s my Sophia, and that’s Joseph – I told you, we’re a ready-made family’
I murmured pleasantries, but our conversation was interrupted by the sullen arrival of Brazil. ‘Oh no, what’s he want now?’ I heard her softly mutter.
‘No rest for the wicked, eh?’ I said.
‘Something like that.’ Sally’s whole demeanour had changed. Gone was the happy care-free young woman with dreams for the future, tired eyes took their place and the hunched shoulders had rolled back.
‘Boss wants to know if you’re finished. He wants you inside. Now.’
I handed Sally my empty mug and thanked her – more for the chat than the drink – then watched her follow Brazil back downstairs.
Later, back in traffic, heading for home, waiting for the lights to change, I looked around. It’s all poor and low rent round here now. The nice stores have all long gone, replaced by coffee shops, takeaways, charities and empty units, sad when you stop to think about it, all those businesses that had been part of the local landscape, wiped away forever – like the furniture store that had been there ever since its founder came back a war hero. It had closed exactly seventy years later and stood empty for a while, decaying day by day as the traffic trundled past. Its new occupant had painted the exterior a gaudy red and gold, ‘Cash X Changer’, where hard-up individuals can peddle valuables for cash enticed by the big banners screaming ‘We pay you for electronics! We pay you for games! We pay you for phones!’ A modern-day pawn shop or a legalised fence? I guess that’s a matter of opinion, but it shows an area’s on its knees when something like this is welcomed on to the high street like a conquering hero.
A single chime took my focus away from concerns about the local decline, but my heart sank to read the incoming message from Sally, ‘Forgot to mention, Uncle B is coming back this week’. But then she made up for the bad news by attaching an image file which when opened brought up my fluffy white kitten face – it was quite funny after all. I was still smiling when an angry blast of horn from behind told me the lights had changed and the traffic had begun to move.
8
There were three people I needed to contact. The first was Chapman. I dialled his number, no surprise, voicemail:
‘Anthony, this is important, I want my money, you’ve got until Thursday night, then it’s out of my hands and I can’t take responsibility for whatever happens. You have to phone me back.’
The second was Blunt, but I really didn’t want to talk to him, I didn’t think I could stay polite and plead that he doesn’t pulverise me whilst wanting to rant and rave about Tommy at the same time, so I took the coward’s way out and sent him a text message ‘Paul, good news, one way or the other I’m getting your money on Friday. Call me, let me know where to find you Friday. I’ll bring it over.’
The third and final person I needed to speak to was Jen, Tommy’s widow. I hadn’t had any contact with her since finding Tommy like that. I figured Senia’s warning to stay away should’ve lapsed by now. I needed to see her, the guilt and shame was coursing through me with such ferocity I realised I was shivering; it was that long-forgotten dread s
ensation of being sent to the headmaster to face your punishment. Her man was working on my job, he should have come home safe. He shouldn’t have been injured and killed, particularly not if it was meant to be me. If I was to clear my conscience, if I was to atone for Tommy, I needed to look Jen in the eye and apologise.
It was almost dark by the time I got to Jen’s, yet it wasn’t much past five. Spring was just starting. I like Spring, the season of new life and expectation, not that that’s much comfort for Jen though I realised.
This was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, I just wanted to stay in the van and go home.
I couldn’t see any police presence outside the house or on the street, but I recognised her mother’s smart new Toyota on the driveway thanks to all the golfing tat. ‘Keep Calm and Play Golf’ read one sticker in the back window, ‘Queen Of The Green’ and ‘Chicks With Sticks’ said others. I knew right then that something difficult had become even harder. Now I really didn’t want to be here, I wanted to drive on.
After a few very long minutes prevaricating, I was on the doorstep. I looked up and down the road for nothing in particular and checked my pockets a second time, glad to feel the soft latex between my fingertips, and after a couple of deep breaths to steady my nerves found myself ringing the doorbell.
‘I’ll get it,’ said a loud voice which I knew belonged to Jen’s mother, and made me want to run away as fast as I could.
Through the glass in the door I saw a wibbly-wobbly underwater depiction of the interior and watched as she appeared through an adjacent doorway. As she opened the door, she recognised me and didn’t hide her displeasure.
‘What do you want?’
She leaned against the jamb to block the entrance, a physical barrier in golfing casuals: the bastard lovechild of Theresa May and Rory McIlroy. Jen’s mother had always been sharp-tongued and cantankerous, not that it ever bothered me before as our paths crossed so seldom, but now given the opportunity to vent all her spite and fury on me she wasn’t going to waste a second of it.